


Good First Impression

by atetheredmind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, I live, anyway we know Dany's got the best hair in Westeros, but the fic itself is not, did y'all see that ish, i've heard it's insured for 10k gold dragons, inspired by that new four-second GOT promo clip, not really anyway, post-s7 but pre-s8, short and sweet, the title is crack, they're naked too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 17:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17349695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: Daenerys wants to make a good first impression when she arrives to Winterfell. Jon Snow doesn't really get it, but he helps in the only way he can.Prompt: Jon trying to describe Northern hairstyles to Dany.





	Good First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> This is short, meaningless fluff, and I would normally just keep this to tumblr, but I figured it never hurts to boost our ship's numbers ;) Inspired by Dany's new hair in the GOT season 8 promo.
> 
> Full disclosure: This fic used to be titled "Dany With the Good Hair" but it was brought to my attention the title was racist and in poor taste, so I changed it to prevent further offense. I'm very sorry about that.
> 
> Moodboard by my fave @aliciutza <3

“Are we very far now, do you think?”

Her sleep-roughened voice was muffled, her face obscured by the layers of fur blankets she’d piled on top of them in the middle of the night. Still, she shivered against him, goose flesh rising on her legs entwined with his. Jon couldn’t help his amused smile. _I am the blood of the dragon_ , she’d assured him when he’d warned her about the merciless cold as they’d set out for Winterfell.

But, as it turned out, not even dragon’s blood could withstand the long, brutal nights of true winter.

Under the covers, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest as if he could warm her with his body. It worked well enough, they’d soon discovered in their march from White Harbor to Winterfell. After the second day on the road, Ser Davos had finally wised up and stopped ordering the assembly of Jon’s tent when they’d stop to rest at night. He never slept in it, anyway.

“Not too much farther,” Jon assured her. Beyond the canvas walls of the queen’s tent, he could hear the soft nickers of the horses, the muted mutters of the Dothraki crowded around camp fires. Probably complaining about the inhospitable terrain and climate of the North. The Unsullied guards standing sentinel outside the queen’s tent were silent as ever.

Daenerys lifted her head then, emerging from the fur to peer at him. In the low light of the nearby brazier, her eyes shone a deep violet, her normally moonlight-limned hair a honeygold now. “What’s ‘too much farther’?” she prompted. “A day? Two?”

Jon chuckled. “Why so eager to reach Winterfell? Is my company that unbearable?”

She rolled her eyes, though her mouth twitched with the ghost of an affectionate smile. “It’s not about _you,_ Jon. I didn’t realize your ego was so big.” He opened his mouth, but her hand closed over it, her eyes narrowing in warning. “Don’t say it.” He smiled against her palm, and she pulled her hand away, sitting up on the makeshift bed. Unfortunately, she took the furs with her, bundling them around her shoulders.

“I ask because I need to plan my arrival.”

He fought a violent shudder as the cool air nipped his bare skin. “You mean _our_ arrival?” he said, sitting up with her. She let him wedge his way into her cloak of furs, draping it around them both.

Daenerys cut him a droll look. “I didn’t know you needed me to dress you, my lord,” she said, teasing.

Confused, he frowned, even as he slid his arms around her naked waist. She shifted onto her haunches beside him, arranging the furs so his shoulders and neck weren’t exposed to the chill. “Dress me?” He was lost.

“Yes. I need to plan what I’m going to wear for when we reach Winterfell.”

“What’s wrong with what you normally wear?” he asked, cluelessly.

She huffed, her breath hot against his face. “Nothing’s _wrong_ with it. I just want to make sure I look my best.”

He couldn’t resist. “If you want to look your best, then you wouldn’t be wearing anything at all,” he murmured, stroking his fingers up and down the curve of her spine, just grazing the sensitive cleft of her arse. She trembled, closing her eyes as she pressed her forehead to his.

“I think your men might have an objection were I to show up naked at the castle gates.”

“Aye, _I_ might have an objection,” he growled, mouthing at her jaw. With a sigh, Daenerys dropped her head back, granting him access to kiss her neck for a moment before she suddenly jerked away from him, pushing at his shoulders.

“No!”

Jon froze. “No?”

“This is _serious,_ Jon, and I won’t be distracted by that clever tongue of yours,” she scolded. Reassured her objection wasn’t one of genuine distress, he relaxed.

“All right. What can I do to help?” he asked. Maybe the sooner they resolved this, the sooner he could get back to using his _clever_ _tongue_ on her. He pulled her closer against him, creating a cocoon of heat and fur. Her pebbled nipples grazed his side, but he did his best to ignore them.

“Do they have a particular style of dress at Winterfell?” she asked, and he furrowed his brow.

“Particular? The women? They wear gowns. Cloaks. Not much different from what you already wear.”

Daenerys sighed. “ _Gowns. Cloaks._ You’re so unimaginative,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed, absently rubbing his muscles. “Never mind. What about hair?”

“What about it?”

She fingered the loose curls of hair at his nape. “How do they wear it?”

Jon blew out a breath, lifting his eyes to the tent canopy overhead. “Seven hells, Dany. It’s been months since I’ve seen a Northern woman. Even then, I don’t think I paid much attention to how their hair looked.”

“No? You weren’t flirting with all the pretty Northern ladies, telling them how beautiful their hair is?” When he looked back at her, he caught her smile and snorted.

“The bastard of Winterfell? No, that wasn’t me.”

Daenerys made a soft sound in the back of her throat, her eyes softening. “All the better for me,” she whispered. Her hands went into his hair, combing through the locks. “Up? Down?”

His eyelids drooped in pleasure. “What?” 

“The ladies. Do they wear their hair up or down?” she elaborated. He swallowed a groan of disappointment, his mind having gone somewhere much more lewd.

“I don’t know.” He tried to remember what Sansa’s hair looked like, or Lady Catelyn’s. Even Arya’s, but his last memory of her was too long ago now. The thought should have made him sad, but he reminded himself he would see her again soon. “Both, I think. I mean, something in between. Maybe?”

She gathered the top section of his hair in her fist. “Like this? How you wear it?”

Jon closed his eyes, shrugging. Her fingers in his hair, nails dragging along his scalp, however innocent, was sending a pulse of desire to his cock, making him thicken against his thigh. “About. But...more intricate. Like you do.”

“With braids, you mean?”

“Aye.” It was coming back to him, now. Vaguely. Opening his eyes, Jon removed his arms from around her waist so he could reach through the opening of the blankets, gathering her soft silken strands in his hands. He fingered them appreciatively for a moment, then, taking a smaller section, he twisted and coiled it in some half-hearted attempt at a braid and pressed it against her crown. “Like this, but actual plaits. On both sides. And sometimes just in the back, I think.”

She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes distant as she pictured it, then she smiled at him. “Thank you. I think I can recreate that. Lord Manderly’s granddaughter had her hair up in a similar fashion, didn’t she? I’m sure between Missandei and myself, we can figure it out.”

Jon shook his head, bemused. “Why does it matter what your hair looks like?”

She gave him a pitying look. “Only a man could dare ask that.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully, then scooped her into his arms. She squealed in surprise as he twisted her back down to the ground, pinning her underneath his weight.

“Jon!” Her giggle was hushed, breathless. “What are you doing?”

He lowered his mouth to hers. “Seeing how much I can mess up that hair of yours before you need to fix it.”


End file.
